


In For a Penny

by kscribbles



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, First Time, Het, Humor, Oral Sex, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-26
Updated: 2012-09-26
Packaged: 2017-11-15 02:41:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/522250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kscribbles/pseuds/kscribbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She knew now that if he shot her down it wouldnt be because he wasnt interested. He was. He might yet need a push, thougha clear, <i>unambiguous</i> signal that she wanted it too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In For a Penny

**Author's Note:**

> This is almost completely plotless guys. A vehicle for smut in which I may or may not shamelessly embrace a few clichés. Set wherever you like in S2, slight mentions of stuff from New Earth. Heaps of love to my fantastic betas, requialexa and rjrog77, for their tireless work, handholding and cheerleading. Written in 2008.

The sound startled him from his repairs. Rose had yelled out his name in distress. It was the middle of the night for her; she should be fast asleep. And nothing could harm her in the TARDIS. Well, nothing _should_ , at any rate. A quick check of the monitor assured him that nothing undesirable had got on board, and then he was off, sprinting towards her bedroom to see what was wrong.

He opened her door gingerly. All was dark and quiet within. He entered on tiptoe, hoping not to disturb her. She was sprawled on her back, covers kicked mostly away but tangled around the legs of her still, sleeping form, barely covered by tiny pyjamas. Clearly she’d had some sort of nightmare, but now seemed to be sleeping peacefully. He should just leave her to it. But he couldn’t leave her room without making absolutely sure she was all right.

He slowly approached her and crouched at the side of the bed, examining her. Her breathing was slow and even; she was deeply asleep now, despite whatever had disturbed her. A stray lock of hair lay over her face and rose and fell with each measured breath she took. He couldn’t stop himself from leaning over her and reaching out to brush it gently off her lips and out of the path of her warm breath. 

Just as he’d completed the movement, he heard Rose’s breath hitch. His hand froze on its way back to his side and he waited for another possible sign of her waking. Then her eyes snapped open. Even in the near darkness he could see they were hazy and unfocussed. She wasn’t fully awake. 

Which is why his hearts nearly stopped in surprise when she grabbed his hand and used it to simultaneously haul herself up and pull him towards her, and then attacked his lips with hers. Through his “O” of shock her tongue plunged past his lips. Her mouth was dry and her movements clumsy and uncoordinated, and it should have been the least enticing snog of his life. But as he held on, trying to keep them from toppling off the bed, he inexplicably found himself returning the kiss with relish, taking it over, softening it. When after several moments of this Rose moaned her pleasure into his mouth, his brain started functioning again and he pulled back from her abruptly. 

Rose blinked at him, once, twice, then released her grip on him and fell back on the bed. He stared at her in confusion for a moment before her soft snores permeated the silence that had fallen. 

He sighed and moved off the bed, scrubbing his hands through his hair in an attempt to clear his head. She’d never been awake at all; dreaming, most likely of some celebrity heartthrob, or other fantasy lover. It was a _very_ good thing he didn’t dare move things further along than just that kiss. His body was already screaming for it, but then he might have some uncomfortable questions to answer when she woke properly. If he had any sense, he’d beat a hasty retreat from her bedroom and return to his repair work in the console room and never give this little incident another thought.

Still, sleep snogging wasn’t exactly a _normal_ activity for Rose. Perhaps he’d better stay close to watch over her, just in case anything else unusual happened. 

Mind made up, he settled across the room in Rose’s big comfy chair, keeping one eye on the sleeping girl in the bed while he did maths for calibrating the graviton stabiliser in his head. 

He must have eventually dropped off because some inestimable time later, he was woken by a gentle kick to the shin. He opened his eyes to light streaming through Rose’s mock window, and a curious Rose standing before him still clad in her hardly decent pyjamas, hands on her hips. He swallowed, hoped he wasn’t flushing. He hadn’t meant to stay in here _all_ night. 

“There must be more comfortable places to sleep on this ship, Doctor.” 

“Yes, many. Lots of… beds.” he replied lamely, his mind still catching up to the cumbersome requirements of being awake.

“Right. So why are you sleeping in my chair?” She looked sceptical, demanding, her eyebrows raised in an imitation of an expression he knew he often made himself.

“You were… I think it was a nightmare. You cried out. I was worried.”

Her expression softened then. “Oh,” she said and paused for a moment, seeming to consider her next words. “Thanks, then. Well, I’ll just…” she trailed off gesturing towards the en-suite. He registered then that she was clutching a towel in one hand.

“Right, Sorry! ” he exclaimed, getting up. “And I’ll just…” he gestured to the door. 

She nodded and headed into the bathroom as he went the opposite direction and out through her bedroom door. Once on the other side of it, he leaned against the comforting wall of the TARDIS and breathed a sigh of relief. That certainly could have gone much worse.

“Doctor?” he heard her call and stepped just into the room to see that she was poking her head out through the bathroom doorway. The door mostly shielded her body, but if he wasn’t mistaken, the hint of creamy shoulder that he could see meant she’d already undressed. He found his mouth suddenly quite dry.

“Did I snog you?” 

He supposed he should choose a very careful response, as this could possibly be a precarious moment in their already unconventional relationship—far more than friends, far less than lovers—but what came out was a sheepish, “You remember that?”

“No,” she said with a _too_ innocent smile. They regarded each other across the expanse of her room. “Hmm,” she said at last, briefly catching her bottom lip in her teeth before speaking again. “We didn’t do anything _else_ I don’t remember, did we?”

He grinned at her then, never one to miss a chance to tout his prowess, no matter how dangerous the territory. “Now _that_ , Rose Tyler, there’s no way you could forget.”

 

>>

 

Rose figured she owed her subconscious mind a huge favour. When she’d gone to bed last night, she hadn’t planned on having snogged the Doctor and having exchanged blatant sexual innuendo with him by her morning shower. She felt… lighter, somehow. They’d both been throwing all their weight behind a crumbling wall, desperate to keep it standing, but it was well and truly bulldozed now. 

She remembered enough of the kiss to know he’d kissed her back. No matter how brief it was, he’d wanted it. And the smile he’d given her right before she’d disappeared back into the bathroom… it was almost lewd. And on him that equalled downright sinful. And there was no misinterpreting what he’d said.

The Doctor danced. The world wouldn’t implode. He wanted to, with her; that wasn’t just teasing earlier. The time for that was past. He might yet need a push, though—a clear, unambiguous signal that she wanted it too. 

She wasn’t afraid of rejection, not really. Because she knew now that if he shot her down it wouldn’t be because he wasn’t interested. He was. It would be because of his own sense of propriety; what he thought, no doubt, was best for them both. She could handle that. 

After her shower, Rose was no closer to any kind of plan. How did one go about seducing a Time Lord, anyway? A dozen times she’d scrapped the idea entirely, ready to leave things up to fate or time or nature or whatever, and every time, she kept remembering the feel of the Doctor’s lips on hers. Properly hers, not Cassandra’s. She’d been mostly asleep, yeah, but she could still feel that zing, imagined she could almost taste him. She wanted more of that. More than wanted. The physical draw she felt to him was almost tangible. A chord running from her still in her bedroom, to him somewhere in the depths of the ship, pulling, pulling.

She found her clothing, her hands shaking just a little with nerves as she picked out her finest white lace knickers and slipped them on. She shuddered as she pulled on a short flouncy skirt of a light dusky blue, briefly letting herself imagine that the soft fabric gliding over her thighs was the touch of his fingertips. Shaking herself from her fantasy, she quickly finished dressing, a matching bra, simple white t-shirt. If she didn’t go do this now—strike while the iron was hot, so to speak—she’d lose her nerve.

\- - -

 

When she found him, he was in the library, sitting on the couch, reading. She stood in the doorway, mostly obscured from his sight and wondered if he could sense her. He gave no indication that he’d noticed her presence. Taking a deep breath and steeling her resolve, she slipped silently into the room and moved towards the back of the couch.

Standing right behind him, she tried to slow her breathing and the racing of her heart. He had to know she was there now, but still showed no signs of it. Just carried on reading. Without further self-debate she reached down and gently ran her fingers through his hair. If he _had_ known she’d entered the room, he certainly hadn’t expecting her to touch him because he stiffened immediately in surprise. His hand stilled in the middle of turning a page and he sat frozen, not even turning his head to question her. 

Keeping her hands busy, raking slowly through his hair, nails lightly grazing his scalp, she leaned down and brought her lips very close to his ear. “Hey,” she said, low, breathy. 

He seemed to relax a fraction, his chest rising with a deep breath he released on a sigh. He reached up and took one of her hands from his hair and brought it around to his cheek. She felt her own breath catch as he turned toward her palm, practically nuzzling her hand. He whispered her name against her sensitive fingertips and she felt like she must be back in her dream. This response was so much more than she could have hoped for right away, and now more than ever, she was sure that coming in here was the right decision.

She was reluctant to break this spell of delicate touching, but she instinctively knew she’d need to be the one to push things further, that he’d never make a move beyond this. And though _she_ found this simple touch of her hand in his hair or against the slight stubble on his cheek fiercely erotic, he’d be able to laugh it off later. He could and would go on pretending they were just friends. The only thing she could think to do was to say something that he wouldn’t be able to misinterpret, shrug off or nervously talk around. As difficult as it would be, given that the language they spoke to each other when it came to these things was composed of subtleties—glances, hints, innuendo—she had to be absolutely blunt. 

“Doctor,” she whispered in his ear again, “I think we should have sex.” 

He immediately dropped her hand.

“What?” he said in a way that sounded only half like a question. He dropped his book and stood, walked a few paces and nervously ran a hand through his hair before turning to face her. “Why would you say that?”

“Because it's true,” she stated simply.

“Rose, there are a lot of things I think are true that don’t necessarily need saying. And I don’t think—”

“All right,” she cut him off, and then took a deep breath, preparing to throw down the question that should make or break all of this. Hating the couch between them, she walked around in front of it, taking the seat the Doctor had just vacated, crossing her feet daintily at the ankles and affecting an air of confidence she didn’t completely feel. 

“Doctor, answer me one question. Honestly. And if the answer’s no, I’ll walk out of here; we forget this ever happened, yeah? But honestly, okay?”

She watched him swallow heavily, regarding her with serious eyes. “Okay,” he said slowly.

Just as slowly, pausing between every word for emphasis, she asked, “Do you want it?”

He made a strangled noise of aggravation and broke her gaze, glancing around the room, anywhere but at her. He looked liked he desperately wanted to move, towards her or away from her, or maybe he just wanted to pace. He stayed rooted to the spot, though, not answering.

“Doctor? You said you’d—”

“What’s the point in asking a question you already know the answer to?”

Rose huffed in frustration. Oh she should have known he’d answer a question with a question. It was classic evasion. Why couldn’t he just—Rose paused in her train of thought and focused on what he’d actually said; that _was_ an answer.

Rose felt heat flood her face as she processed the information. As she watched the obvious struggle play over _his_ face, she felt that warmth spread lower in anticipation and tried desperately to keep her expression neutral. She waited for him to speak again; though he’d asked her a question, Rose knew that the next move had to be his. She’d pushed about as far as she dared.

Rose felt the air between them sizzle with tension, with potential. And then quite suddenly, with a movement so fast she might have missed it if she hadn’t been so focused on him, he was standing in front of her. She looked up at him as he looked down and their eyes met, his dark and unreadable. With a soft sigh he broke her gaze and folded his long legs to sit on the rug at her feet like a supplicant.

Her heartbeat sped up, simultaneously thrilled and anxious to have him so close once again. She watched as his eyes roved over her legs. The pull between them was so taut now. _She_ was taut. If he didn’t at least lightly touch her she might.... She saw his fists clench. Unclench. Would he? Oh he had to. 

He did, with a hand that glided over her ankle, feather-light.

His gaze remained fixed on his hands, on her skin where he was touching her so delicately. “Tell me why we should,” he murmured, “why this would be a good idea.”

He gently uncrossed her ankles, and she held her breath. He paused until she released it and then his touch was a little firmer, sliding both hands up to stroke the skin between her ankles and mid-calves, back and forth, caressing, tracing patterns into her skin. 

She swallowed uncertainly, realised he was waiting for an answer. It unnerved her that she couldn’t see his eyes, couldn’t read anything but his actions.

“We both want to,” she breathed out.

“And?” he prompted, his fingers drifting up near her knees. 

“And it’s frustrating to... not.” She squeaked out the last as he parted her knees a fraction. He seemed to be searching for a particular spot with his fingertips and when he found it, he leaned and placed a moist kiss there, on the inside of her left knee. Her eyes widened and she gasped, trying not to lift her hips or squirm as a bolt of electric desire blazed from where his lips connected with her flesh straight to her centre. 

“And?”

Oh what was he playing at, trying to have this conversation like this? His hands, his lips on her and she was expected to be rational and coherent? Was it that he felt like she did, that to _not_ be touching would be unbearable? She struggled to get her panting under control and her thoughts in order as both of his palms slid to the tops of her thighs. 

“Frustration,” she tried. “You know… we’d be much better at saving the world, clear-headed.” His hands were under her skirt now, concealed beneath it, stroking ever closer to where she wanted him to be. She bit her lip, unconsciously slumped a little on the couch, making room for his torso between her knees. “Without being distracted—”

“Really?” It was the first time he’d looked up at her since he’d begun to touch her and she gasped again at what she saw in his eyes. They were darkened by an intense lust so palpable it was like he was already stroking her even more intimately. Her body responded in kind, her heartbeat speeding even faster, more warmth and moisture pooling so close to his questing hands.

She shivered as his fingers slipped to her hips, pushing her skirt up and out of the way as they went. She held his gaze as he grasped the waistband of her knickers, hardly daring to breathe as he asked the silent question with a flick of his eyes downwards. She let out a soft muffled noise of equal parts disbelief and assent and lifted her hips so he could tug the now sodden tiny white garment off them and down her legs. With unexpected grace he leaned back enough to remove her knickers entirely then repositioned them both, grasping her beneath the knees, and tugging her bum forward as he lowered his head. 

“Rose,” he continued, his honeyed voice warm against her inner thigh, “want and frustration are two very different things.”

She whimpered an unintelligible response, her whole body focussed on the movement of his mouth, rather than on the words it was forming. He slowly trailed moist kisses up her thigh, finally arriving at her damp curls, just hovering for a moment, his puffs of breath driving her mad. Remembering the effect on him earlier, she slid her hands into his hair encouraging him to continue. 

“Maybe,” he said just before his tongue finally came out to taste her before pulling back a fraction, “I’m not driven to frustration the same way you are. Maybe I can go a very very long time without getting what I want.” 

How exactly had the tables turned on her so drastically? She’d been in total control just minutes ago, she was sure of it. Now she was incapable of speech, he was teasing her to within an inch of her life and all she could process was lips, tongue, oh maybe hands again too, _gah, right there!_ His whole mouth came into play, tasting, delicately exploring before his lips wrapped around their target and alternated sucks, nibbles and licks, until she was, possibly literally, about to explode.

She’d never doubted he’d be good at this, and yes, she’d thought about it many, many times, but this was completely unfair; he was _too_ good. He’d been at it for what couldn’t be more than a minute or two before the rapidly building sensations she’d grown far too unaccustomed to caused her to inadvertently clench her thighs together. She felt the tickle of his sideburns on her sensitive flesh before he pulled back and allowed her to relax a fraction.

Her hands, which had become lax in his hair ruffled through it again and he looked up. This time he gave a wickedly sly small smile, and a look that said _no mercy_. Holding her gaze, he danced a pair of fingers over her heated flesh. She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth trying to hold back a moan. Then those fingers found her entrance and slid easily inside and she did moan then, slamming her eyes shut and pushing her hips into his hand. She nearly yelped when his mouth resumed its task, timing the pull of his lips with the thrust of his fingers inside her.

It was only seconds after that that she was thrown hurtling over the edge, her hands fisting tightly in his hair, her inner muscles grasping him powerfully, as her cries echoed through the room. Slowly he withdrew from her, pulled her skirt down, ran his hands along her thighs to the knees, and then he was no longer touching her at all.

She threw her eyes open at the loss. He was sitting back a pace from her, an almost totally unfamiliar expression on his face. He looked… stunned. Like he couldn’t quite believe what had just passed between them. Which made little sense, considering he’d seemed to know _exactly_ what he was doing moments earlier.

As she tried to puzzle out that mystery, she reached out for him, but he eluded her grasp. He got up and backed away, standing against the nearest wall. As her body was still recovering from being turned entirely to jelly, she couldn’t find the energy to propel herself up and go to him just yet.

“Doctor?” she asked, her voice sounding unnaturally loud after the quiet that had sunken between them.

He was leaning against the wall, head tilted up towards the ceiling elongating his neck magnificently. His eyes were closed in concentration and he was breathing heavily. A glance down his body told her how affected he was by what he’d been doing to her and with that realisation, she couldn’t sit still any longer. 

 

* * *

 

She’d be the death of him, his Rose. He’d been _so_ good, keeping away, keeping his hands off her. Well, besides the excessive hand-holding and the often gratuitous full body embraces. He wasn’t a saint after all. But there were lines one didn’t cross with one’s companions. Snogging? Definitely over the line. But hey, imminent death on his part, possessed and compressed by psychograft on hers—those were free passes. Half-accidental dream snogging? Well, that was sort of a grey area. He’d been willing to overlook it. 

Until she’d teased and he’d responded, and then later she came in here, clearly determined to torment him. And he’d _tried_ to ignore her, he’d really tried. She’d only had to say the word ‘sex,’ out loud and he’d crumpled. Quite literally, and then he couldn’t keep his hands off her. Or his mouth. The logical, rational side of his mind had just shut off as he touched her, brought her pleasure. It apparently had decided to flicker back on just as she came. 

Though rational as he might be at the moment, recapping the events of the very recent past wasn’t doing anything to calm the raging and obvious needs of his body. 

Very soon Rose would be wondering why he’d scampered away from her. He was only trying to catch his breath, get a handle on things, decide on the proper course of action. Like, for instance, should he walk calmly out of the room and chalk this up to a moment of insanity, or run back to the couch, shove clothing out of the way and shag her properly?

A third option presented itself unexpectedly when he felt the air around him shift. Rose had to be standing right in front of him. He hadn’t even realised she’d got up. Wasn’t he just discussing his masterful logic and rationale with himself a second ago? Apparently, he was still easily distracted. Not surprising given how his companion regularly drove him to it. 

He blinked his eyes open and looked down at her. She was so beautiful. Cheeks flushed, hair mussed, desire glinting from her eyes and pouring off her skin in waves. He wanted to kiss her. Possibly _needed_ to. But she put her hand on his hip and he was suddenly incapable of moving.

She stepped even closer to him and brought her lips to his neck as her palm slid halfway across his waist and then downward. He groaned loudly as she sucked at the skin of his throat and traced the outline of him through his trousers. She smiled against him as the sound reverberated.

Then another sound cut through the air—the unmistakable metal on metal rasp of a lowering zip. His, precisely. By her. 

“Rose?” he questioned, not sure what answer he was looking for.

She smiled an impossible smile, half sinister, half innocent, “Turnabout, fair play and all that?”

“Uh… what?” he managed as she reached inside to stroke him directly.

His question was answered when she sank to her knees before him, pulling his trousers and pants along with her.

“Ah. Yes, turnabout.” He stammered, sidetracked as he was by the sight below him. Rose was looking up at him with wide eyes, her small hand perched on his thigh, her mouth hovering scant inches away from one of his _hardly used_ parts that was positively aching for her attention. “But you don’t have to—

“I’m gonna,” she said simply.

“Right.”

And then her warm mouth was on him. And he thought he might spontaneously regenerate from the pleasure that was coursing through him at each pull of her talented mouth. It was almost too much. He sighed out her name, tangled his hands in her hair, gently encouraging. What was going on between them was long past out of his hands, it was as inevitable as the passage of time itself, and he no longer cared about what was right or appropriate.

Although if he were a gentleman, he’d stop her. Soon. Though Rose was always accusing him of being rude… On the other hand, as amazing as her mouth felt on him, he really wanted it elsewhere right now. 

He almost painfully craved the intimacy of her lips on his. Now that he was clearly _allowed_ it, he couldn’t wait any longer. Rose might not understand, but right now the urge to kiss her was more immediate than the need to find release. He thought it slightly absurd that they hadn’t yet, given what else their mouths had been up to.

He deliberated for almost too long before he gently tugged her off him and urged her to stand. He was again struck by how amazing she looked, hair an even more tangled mess, lips plump and shiny with moisture, and her beautiful eyes…. Oh she was confused, looked slightly hurt, wondering why he stopped her only to stare at her like a loon. 

She reached her hand down to take hold of him again, but he grabbed her wrist, preventing her.

“Rose, no.”

“But…” she pouted. Because she was clearly trying to murder him.

He’d had about as much of that as he could stand, so he leaned down, took her face between his palms and kissed her deeply. There was no hesitation on either of their parts; not surprising, given what they’d been up to, but, he thought, it really was exactly how a proper ‘first’ kiss should go. Immediately his tongue was in her mouth seeking out her soft sweetness. She responded with equal gusto, sliding her tongue along his, soon moaning softly like she’d done last night. He delighted in the effect he was having on her (especially this time, now that she was _awake_ ), but wanted more. He wanted her panting again beneath him, clawing at him, coming.

He wrenched his hands from her face, hauling the rest of her body to him with arms around her waist. He groaned as her still very clothed form rubbed up against him, and he tried as gracefully as possible, and without breaking their kiss, to shift them so that it was her back to the wall. A slightly difficult feat when his trousers were still about his ankles.

He managed it fine though, enjoying the extra leverage having a solid surface behind her gave him to snog her senseless. He regretfully pulled his mouth from hers after a moment to see her eyes as he encouraged one of her legs over his hip. She was nearly completely lost to lust and it was the loveliest thing he’d ever seen. He marvelled that he was the one who got to make that happen.

“I agree,” he couldn’t resist whispering throatily to her as she got the idea and hiked her other leg around him.

“What?”

“Sex,” he said, aligning their bodies. “We should have it.”

“Oh.” She gave him a grin then, tongue poking out between her teeth. “Now would be good.”

“Absolutely.”

He pushed inside her in one strong thrust, groaning again as the heat of her surrounded him. She cried out as well, his name barely discernible in the guttural sound. The sound tore through him, nonetheless, igniting some primal remnant in him. As they began to move, nothing mattered but the thud and slide of their two bodies against each other, the wet push and pull of him within her. Finishing this mattered, claiming her as his by spilling himself into her welcoming body, cementing that bond that had so long been growing between them. 

He drove relentlessly into her again and again chasing that goal, blindly hoping that she’d follow him. And then he felt it through his shirt, her nails digging into his shoulders like he’d imagined; he heard her ragged cries of pleasure. He opened his eyes, not even remembering having shut them. He kept up his frenzied pace, but tore his mind back from the mindless pursuit of his pleasure and focussed on hers. He wanted her mouth again, so he claimed her lips in a messy wet kiss, tasting the flood of chemicals that entered her bloodstream as her orgasm began. 

He slowed his rhythm, hoping to draw out the experience for her, and pulled back enough to watch it play over her face when he felt her begin to clench around him. As fingertips softened at his back, her desperate clutching turning into a caress, he could no longer hold the demands of his body in check. He slammed his hips into hers with quick, rough deep strokes—only a handful of them before he joined Rose in completion.

Her name was wrenched from his throat as he pulsed inside her, pushing into her a final time, pinning her to the wall. The intense pleasure coursed like a live wire through his body, tensing every part of it in turn before he relaxed and slumped against her, repeating her name several more times in a softening litany. 

 

* * *

 

The Doctor let her down onto wobbly legs. He paused briefly to haul up his trousers and zip himself up, but otherwise didn’t move back or give her space. He leaned into her, panting softly into her neck, hands sliding back around her body to her back, pulling her to him again in an embrace. She hugged him back, suddenly sleepy and altogether immensely satisfied. 

She’d only planned on bringing all their tension out onto the table. Laying their cards out, hoping a frank discussion would head things in the right direction. And yes, she’d hoped for some _results_ as well. But she’d never really expected _this_. More snogging, some groping perhaps, but she hadn’t dared to hope for a frantic, mind-blowing shag against the library wall.

She smiled to herself even as her body was still quivering slightly. All in all, she supposed, it had gone rather well.

She ran her hands through his slightly damp hair and brought her lips to his ear. “Reckon we’ll be better at saving the world now? I mean, we’ve been doing all right so far.”

He laughed outright at that, the reverberations of it rumbling pleasantly through her body. He kissed her neck before pulling back and grinning widely at her.

“Rose,” he said with mock seriousness, “I’m not sure we’ll ever leave the TARDIS now. Look what you’ve done.” As if in emphasis, he slipped his hands beneath her t-shirt to stroke her back and started placing small kisses anywhere else he found bare skin. “You weren’t even a bit afraid of rejection, were you?”

“No,” she said, a little uncertainly.

“Rose, I’ve been around, you know. Nine hundred years of time and space and you, you are the most amazing creature I’ve ever had the pleasure of seducing.” 

“Oh,” she felt herself blush a little at the compliment, “But I’m not—hang on, _seducing_?”

“Oh yes.”

“Put the idea in my head, did you?” she teased. “Had me pick out my favourite I-feel-sexy knickers and all?”

“Mmhmm,” he mumbled into her neck, hands beginning to rove over some of the curves of her body he’d neglected so far.

“Liar.”

“Maybe a little.”

“I snogged you first,” she protested.

He kissed her thoroughly before pulling back, his eyes twinkling at her. “You were asleep.” 

“ _You_ said you’d be an unforgettable shag.”

“Exactly! And, I was right, wasn’t I?”

Oh, she’d walked right into that one. All right, so he had put the idea into her head, sort of, but it wasn’t anything she hadn’t thought about countless times before. “You’re impossible!”

“Yes.” His hands grew bolder, sending a renewed surge of desire spiking through her. “And you love it.”

“Mmm,” she affirmed, “maybe a little.”

 

FIN


End file.
